


Dream of Him

by LexiTRone



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, Fun, M/M, Multi, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28630467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexiTRone/pseuds/LexiTRone
Summary: Series of One-shots that are first or second person (but I don't do y/n insertions, giggity) and I've tried to make the participant as ambiguous as possible for everyone's (male and female and more) enjoyment. This is a special challenge to myself, but hope you like it!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 4





	1. Bath

Vanilla. You can smell it from the hall, dim and steamy.

You see by night lights lining the walls, glowing peach instead of white. You smell lavender next in the thick warm air, grabbing the frame to pivot into the bathroom. Ostentatious, but that is unsurprising, with a panel glass waterfall to obscure the massive tub. You notice bubbles piled over the brim of white porcelain, the corner behind them covered in candles. Is the scent the candles or the bath?

There’s a figure behind the waterfall, first dark and thin between the trails then massive as it approaches. Bucky peeks from around the glass, smiling, gliding to your side so naturally, as if he knows he should be right there, next to you. His light eyes are now a dusky blue, and the playful smile morphs into something darker when he looks down your body. His thumb gently nudges your chin to the side to lean forward, planting a gentle kiss at the soft spot beneath your ear, whispering, “come relax.”

His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, his knuckles grazing your ribs as he pulls the fabric firmly up and away. He likes how you suck in air quickly while he slide his hands, palm to your skin, down your hips, locking his thumbs around the waist of your shorts. He kneels to lower the bottoms to the floor, resting his forehead momentarily against your stomach, and before you can compose yourself, you startle at the contact, tensing your muscles away.

Bucky places a large, strong hand behind your thigh to catch you, and the breath that escapes you is more a sigh than an exhale. Your hesitation encourages him to brush his thumb back and forth around the curve of you, lifting his head to face your navel. For a moment, you think he’ll lean forward to kiss you, or plunge himself between your legs with your knees over his broad shoulders, but he stands instead and guides you to the bath.

The water is hot, hot enough to keep that momentary sting lingering as it sinks to your muscles, pressing their expansion against your bones. It’s delicious. The smell is the bubbles, you think, though the fog of steam and stress and lust blurs things a bit. Your decent into the water is slow, letting yourself adjust inch by inch, till you can step from the rim to the ledge to the bottom. The gentle trickle of the waterfall meets the delicate pops of bubbles giving way to your movement. Between breaths, when you can hear everything, the candle wicks make taps of approval, their flames dancing to hypnotize.

You close your eyes, leaning your head back to dip your hair in. You feel a surge in the water, the level rises, and you know he’s behind you, watching. He gives you your moment to release the tension of the day, but he enjoys looking at the dripping wet tangles of hair that rise from the bath, the definition of your collarbone, the dip between your shoulder blades. He wins; the night is his.

A furious burst of exploding bubbles tells you he’s coming, and the arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back against him as he sits on the ledge. Your ass is spread across his thigh while his fingers wander and play. His breath is hot behind your neck before he kisses and bites across your shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but the primal claim of his teeth to your skin makes you press for more. He is hard against your hip. Your sighs evolve to moans, and he won’t let you turn, crossing his other arm across your chest to grab your nipple and clamp your back to him. The control is liberating. He breathes heavier when you do, kisses more when you moan, moves his fingers to make you sigh.

Bucky wants a scream, and he won’t stop until he gets it. You fight it. He likes that. The vanilla hits you when you struggle to inhale, the lavender fills your head. The soft slick of your skin from the sudsy water lessens the friction, but he teases something more lasting. He cradles his face in the the nape of your neck. He groans, but he won’t accept begging, pleading, or demands. He’ll get his scream.

He kisses beneath your ear again. You give him what he wants.


	2. Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written to be read as first person male or female, as a special treat for all readers, hopefully. This was a good challenge for me. I highly recommend little tests like that when you’re stretching your writing skills. Also my first EVER attempt at a physically romantic scene.  
> Warning: Rated for explicit oral sex.   
> I literally just warned you. You were warned.   
> Enjoy!

He’s aware of how close I’m following behind him in the hall. I can tell by the way he looks at the pictures on the wall, using his periphery to keep an eye on me. He’s not subtle, but he thinks he is.

“Turn here—on the left,” I say, smiling.

Bucky cocks an eyebrow and actually turns his head enough to look at my face. He doesn’t like not knowing what I’m showing him. To be honest, I’m a little surprised he didn’t try to get the secret out of me. He could have, pretty easily, because he knows where to tickle. Lord, don’t let him touch my feet.

He tries his hand on the key pad, but his fingerprints don’t work. I’m tricky like that; the door will only open, from inside or out, for me.

So I let us in—to a small, dark room— and on his face, suspicion is cracking through the facade.

“I promise you’ll like it.” I only have to keep my smile from looking devious for a few more seconds, until the door is closed. I’ve probably already broken, or he’s figured me out. Maybe he’s excited, too, if he knows, which makes my stomach jump.

The bolt on the door slides back into place. When he finds no lightswitch, Bucky turns around towards the faint light on my face, a flash of fear jets though his cool blue eyes.

I step forward to kiss his cheek, to hold his hand in comfort, but it’s a lie. The snap of the magnetic cuff is barely covered by the peck of my lips near his ear. I can hear his heartbeat thrum faster.

“What are you doing?”

I trigger the magnet, and Bucky’s arm is wrenched back against the wall.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” The tremble is audible now, but not in fear of pain. He knows I would never hurt him, but he does not enjoy my _plans_ quite as much as I do. Bucky doesn’t have my imagination.

Three things I’m prepared for: he’ll try to take control and stop me, he’ll fight enjoying this, and he _will_ love it. So we begin.

His arm is clamped to the wall waist-high. He’s getting nervous now. My calm is unnerving him, so I go to hug him. A simple hug, tender, soft.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? Can I have my hand back, please?”

But he’ll be disappointed first. “No.”

I drag my hand slowly up the inside of his thigh, back down the buttons of his jeans. He tries to be quiet. He always tries.

He wraps his metal arm around behind me, pinning both my arms to my sides, spinning us against the wall.

“Really,” he says very low, “you don’t have to do this.” It’s funny that his training involved absolutely no seduction techniques. I can see right through him; he’s attempting to sound husky, masculine, powerful, but inside he’s like a terrified little school boy waiting beneath the bleachers.

“Fine.” I try to shift my hand to my pocket, but he clenches down. “Do you want me to get the remote or not?”

A slump of guilt weighs on his shoulders. I can’t see his face with the frosted glass door behind him. His arm relaxes, and I reach deep into my pocket, withdrawing my hand.

 _Click_. _Zap_. The metal arm flies in an arc behind him to pin Bucky with his back against the wall. Cuffs come in pairs.

“You really are predictable,” I softly laugh. Like I said, he has reason to fear my plans. I imagine the chaos swirling through his brain. Cries of ‘don’t’ bumping against hesitation, anticipation smacking into fantasies of his own. A bag of cats, I’m sure. Of course, it’s all written across his face, the blue of his eyes like a two-way mirror. “Where was I…”

He’s prey now, shifting against the wall, cornered to become a meal. My hand returns to the soft fabric over his stomach and slides down. The jeans are pulled taut against him, defying his will to resist this fun. Bucky knows I’ll let him go, but I’ll know if and when he wants that in earnest. That’s what safe words are for.

His breath comes unevenly. He stifles a hiss when my cold fingers tuck under his old, comfy sweater and begin the slow unlatching of the pants. The release of pressure against him with each popping button encourages hardening inside. I deliberately add soft grazes of my fingertips to the real undressing.

I called him at random before, forcing him to dress quickly to meet me, knowing he wouldn’t put boxers on in a hurry. Bucky sleeps in the buff. He’ll always wear as little as possible when given the choice. It is…convenient.

The skin around his dick is pulled tight enough to see veins, but he needs more contact to spring fully to attention. When my focus returns to his, he watches me with dark eyes and heavy lids. His lips fall slack with desire. I’ve broken the first layer, interest. My heart swells with pride as does he, under my hand.

Bucky licks his lips, struggling to form a thought. “What are you gonna—” he breathes “—do to me?”

 _Well, I ain’t gonna be talking to you, genius._ I can feel the smile spread to my cheeks. The outline of my jaw is probably all he can see in this dark. No spoilers.

I lean close enough to exhale hot onto his tense neck before slithering down to my knees.

Bucky’s soft, nervous laugh betrays him. “Oh god.”

My mouth engulfs the tip of him, and the burst of sensation shifts his arousal towards me and further in. The first crackle of a moan escapes before he steels himself. I raise my hand to hold flat at the base of him, using the other to pull the jeans down around his ankles, piled lax around Bucky’s bare feet.

My tongue starts drawing circles on the soft underbelly of his pulsing head. He gets harder by the second, raising to press gently against the roof of my mouth. The slip of his skin against my wet lips…delicious, exquisite, maybe even divine.

Bucky doesn’t move with me yet, but I’ve explained it before: this isn’t solely for his benefit. I love to touch him. I love to make him mad with lust. I love to give him reasons to miss me, dream of me, get horny as fuck for me. This is one of my tricks which doubles as a treat.

When I’ve slipped my way to the root of him, my hand joins in, rolling with soft pressure in rhythm beyond my mouth. This time I elicit a sigh. My thumb pulses along the tender flesh while my mouth bobs a faster beat. I can hear his hitched breaths come in succession of my methodical devouring. He is delicious with an aroma that spurs me to action. The potent smell of sweat and musk, intoxicating.

The next layer brakes, and Bucky openly moans, pleading for more.

My aiding hand drops to cup his balls while I take in his full length to the back of my throat. My other hand snakes up his torso to feel him tense and relax his abs, thrusting for more. He grunts as he succumbs. The pumps of his hips become erratic, primal. He’s lost all control now, and I knew he’d love it. Soon, if I train him enough, he’ll be addicted to it.

The muttering doesn’t stop. He begs in murmurs. This is by far my most successful plot…

“Fuck, I’m close,” Bucky pants to the ceiling. Time for his favorite torture.

My hand returns to the base of him, sliding up and down his slick shaft with my mouth. Slow, slow, plunge, roll, slow, lick, plunge. I’m increasing the suction as I go, breaking my grip away from my lips to pump him for more pleasure.

His moan becomes a groan that erupts into a scream that chokes as a breathless sigh.

Another roll of my tongue and slide of my mouth, and he bucks towards me with a tremor down his legs. He continues to shake, emitting soft whines involuntarily.

I release him, swallow, and look up. Bucky’s leaning his head back to anchor himself, eyes closed. He slams his back against the wall to steady his ravaged body now that I’m not touching him.

 _Check and mate._ I’m pleased to watch him squirm without control, but I don’t do this to embarrass him. I only want him to enjoy something devoid of his brain’s participation. He may be unbelievable in bed when he is dominant, but I like my bits of fun, too.

I slide up his jeans while his ragged breathing regulates. He’s probably trying not to curse at me; the hate would be hollow anyway.

In my pocket, I deactivate the cuffs, and Bucky nearly collapses to the floor. With the metal still locked around his wrists, he dives to take my face in his hands, pulling me into a chaotic kiss. He’s lust-drunk and grateful, grabbing whatever parts of me his greedy hands land on first.

Poor puppy. All bark, can’t take a bite back. I wonder how he’ll take his revenge. I am, after all, the only one who can unlock the door, and he hasn’t buttoned his pants yet.


	3. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a nightmare and needs you to wake him up after.

You rouse from sleep to find the room still dark, the tiny ghost of moonlight seeping through thin curtains. The sheets are gone as your hand search blindly, but a warm breath gusts across your thigh.

Bucky’s awake, but out of habit you glance to see his abandoned pillow beside you.

Your body forces you to stretch, to push away what fatigue it can, until tantalizing fingers press your muscles back to the bed.

You should be scared of him.

A notorious assassin, vicious, bloody, brutal, and the Winter Soldier was a title to pour ice in the veins.

But his hands, oh, his warm and wandering hands.

How long did it take him to learn to use his hands just so? You think of how many test subjects there may have been, but you refuse to be jealous of anyone who likely died long before you were born. Then it occurs to you that he may know how good this feels because he touched himself.

A rush of blood abandons your brain to follow his feather light touch.

“It’s not even light yet,” you groan in the dark.

Bucky doesn’t respond. The pale lit face focuses on his little circles, propped up on his metal elbow. He blinks lazily.

You could roll over, or he would oblige if you shooed him away, but why? You could lay here, and he would play with you, dancing over your body for hours.

Uncharacteristically, Bucky takes a firm grip over your thigh, releasing the muscle gently before squeezing it one palm-length higher. More insistent than usual, you think, but you could be persuaded.

He finishes his suggestive massage up your leg, laying the hand flat against your hip.

He waits.

Though sleepy, you smile because Bucky is one of the most infuriatingly patient men you’ve ever met. He’ll live a whole lifetime before taking a leap for something he wants, but every so often, he begs, in his own unique way, for your attention.

You take a deep breath, comfortable in your power while his fingers flex and press again.

Fine. You’ll throw him a bone. “What? Do you need something?” It’s a lazy question.

He lets out a sharp exhale, heaving himself up to your neck, sliding his arms beneath yours to grip your shoulders. He presses his lips above your collarbone and moves to kiss just below your ear.

“What’s the magic word,” you giggle.

His voice comes gruffly. “It’s not funny.”

You shrug into his hold. “Little bit,” you offer and tilt your head down to his.

Instead of words, Bucky shoved his knee between your legs to spread them as he lowers his body flush with yours.

Very insistent.

He must have had a nightmare. He likes to be grounded in something good after waking from horrors. He won’t talk about it, and you never ask…specifically.

It’s harder to breath with the weight of him on your chest yet comforting. You suppose there are worse ways to wake up…or die.

Your fingers twist into his thick hair as he teases nipples beneath your tank. The rocking of his hips rubs the soft boxers he wears against your thigh, rolling your underwear up with it.

How long had he wanted you before waking you?

He’s rock hard beneath that fabric, panting into your chest as if tortured for hours.

You force him to roll over, straddling the deep cut V leading to his torment.

Bucky releases your shoulders to lay one arm over his face, ashamed of his desperation, stifling heavy breaths.

Must have been one hell of a nightmare.

Leaning to nudge away his arm, your pelvis slides along the length of him.

“Please,” Bucky says softly, “I need you.”

His metal arm rests above his head as the other pulls against your ass, spreading you slightly. His torso jumps off the bed so he can take your lips, slipping an urgent tongue deep into your mouth.

You both rock back and forth, unsure how to balance in the chaos of pleasures, until he grabs at your ass again, this time tearing away the fabric between you.

He breaks the kiss to tilt his head beneath your chin. You gasp for air while he wets his fingers with your mingled saliva, and he returns to lift you from behind with a finger inside.

You’re raised up, basking in the pulse of one and then two fingers, all while Bucky uses his metal arm to slide his boxers down. The band pulls his cock forward to graze your thigh before it springs back to lay at his stomach.

“Let me,” you croak, hoarse with lust.

Bucky grabs your hand to smear across his open mouth, a slick trail of kisses preparing you to guide him in. His missing fingers leave a void in you that needs filling.

He’s thick, and while to look at, not overly long, you know the depths he can reach. Even as you descend onto his length he pulls you to his chest to hold you close.

Bucky’s face is lined and strained as he presses kisses to your open lips. A silent scream escapes you as if the pressure of his cock can hit your lungs.

He lets out a small cry. He waited too long to wake you.

“You’re so tight,” he grunts between husky gasps.

You slowly bounce against him, leaning to his ear. “Cum for me.”

Another stifled cry from him, and your hands return to his hair, pulling his head back to watch ecstasy roll over his resistant features.

Straining your head over his, you position your mouth just above his before repeating your demand. “Cum for me.” You clamp your lips to his, muffling tiny whines with each plunge of your hips.

His hands latch around her waist, Bucky holds you down against him as he empties inside you, crying out into your kiss.

After ragged breaths, Bucky ducks his head beneath your chin. “Sorry,” he begins, “I just—“

“Shh.”

He runs his hands up and down your sweating back, and when he grazes the sides of your waist with a light touch—ah, it tickles. The jolt arches your body away from his hands and into Bucky’s chest. He takes the opportunity to suck at your nipple, flicking his tongue across peaked flesh.

“Okay,” you moan, noticing the rising light of dawn on the walls, “feel better?”

He switches to your other nipple. “When you…I will,” Bucky mumbles.

Slowly, he lifts you up and off, dripping semen to the sheets below, rolling you farther away from the wet.

If the loss of his fingers left you wanting, the absence of his swollen dick is excruciating. He loves to play when you’re so sensitive, riding the high of orgasm while trying to stay afloat in a riptide to sleep.

Bucky drags short nails (and now warm metal) gently along the outside of your legs until both feet are in his hands, pushed apart to allow him access to your thighs. He crawls across you like a hunter over wounded prey, but he’s smelling you for desire, not fear. This is how he plans his attack once the white-hot need settles to a smoldering fire.

Fingers delve into you, shock and pleasure escaping in throaty gasp. He curls them inside while his thumb and mouth trace cursive outside, exploring what elicits the most noise.

At first, he pins your hip down, but once he finds joy in your needy pulsing, you’re released, free to roll into his mouth at an increasing pace.

Your leg shutters uncontrollably, and you clap a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god.”

You roll to grab a pillow, something to muffle what are sure to be hazardously loud screams if he continues, and the invitation is accepted.

Bucky flips you to your knees, dragging your ass backward to meet his taut stomach, his renewed interest throbbing between your legs.

“ _Gotovin_.”

Russian brainwashing…so the nightmare was about Hydra, and Bucky’s mind is struggling to find new associations for things marred by pain and violence. What he wants is good memories in the light, something to outlast the bad in the dark.

You have to hold a breath to get out the word, “ready.”

Lower, like the growl of an animal, he says. “I wanna hear you—“ he leans over to pull the pillow away from your face “—tell me what you want.” He drags his forehead along your spine.

“Fuck me.” It comes out as a breathy squeal, unhinged from control or care. “Make me cum.”

He spreads your ass with his metal hand, sliding his tip across your entrance to lubricate his way. Again. Too slow, and he’s barely a few inches in before he runs his cock along all your blood-soaked nerves.

You’re about to beg when—uh, sweet filling friction, he’s in, fully yours for the taking. Your body spasm over his length as he begins to move.

While his metal hand remains firm on its cheek, he slaps the other, grunting with increasing thrusts.

One long cry warps in your throat as he pounds in and out of you, his balls thumping against your own engorged point of pleasure.

Bucky draws your back up flush to his chest, biting your shoulder as his hand comes down to stroke you. He has to hold you close to hinder your wilding bucking, so close, so close to him and explosion.

Your cries are so loud. You couldn’t stop if you tried, and you’d die if he didn’t take every—

—breath—

—from—

—your—

—lungs.

You thrust so hard back into him that the teetering balance is broken, collapsing face first into the sheets, and Bucky manages to catch himself before his weight falls onto you.

He’s still inside. The new angle pins your growing knot of pleasure tight against his aching cock, and each tiny movement sends shockwaves through your belly and down your legs.

Your legs flail as you try to control the spasms, but Bucky grabs an ankle to spread you again.

It’s over. It’s here. The flood of noise bursts through your body and brain, shattering reality. Fists of fabric stifle your howl of exhausted release. You’re pinned beneath his weight as he cries into your shoulder blade, pumping in his last lustful drops, hilt deep in your warmth.

Oh god, oh fuck, oh god. It’s all you can think, waves of the same nonsensical explosions hitting you over and over. Not until the tide draws back and you return to your body do you notice your mouth never closed after your last scream.

Bucky remains tucked against your back, panting, grasping at your thigh like a lifeline, shuttering every few seconds while holding back another groan.

“Holy shit,” you finally manage, realizing you’re almost raw as he pulls out. The chill of his cum running down the crease of your leg makes you shiver.

Bucky curls beside you, grasping for your hands to bring to his lips. He mumbles apologies over and over. He does that after nightmares, too, believing he’s become some brutal assassin again by wanting…well, _anything_ for himself.

One day, he won’t feel so guilty. One day he won’t have nightmares, but for now, you pull your hands from his to wrap your arms around him, bringing his head to nozzle into your chest.

His breathing finally slows as the full light of day drapes over his perfect body which hides his imperfect mind, and you fall asleep again, warmed by him close where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I getting better at this? Because it feels like I am getting better at this. lol


End file.
